


Hunger

by thegrimshapeofyoursmile



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Blowjobs, Hawke is a blushing virgin only not really, Kissing, M/M, handjobs, mentions of physical abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 10:59:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1646231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegrimshapeofyoursmile/pseuds/thegrimshapeofyoursmile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When they kiss, it is sloppy, all tongue and teeth and no finesse, especially from Fenris, who has never been kissed before, not on his lips anyway, and certainly not from Hawke. </p>
<p>So this is a first for him, in a way.</p>
<p>It is just that it is a first for Hawke in many ways and that is just very surprising. Fenris does not know what to say or to do when Hawke tells him, all flustered face and twitching fingers and jokes that are made to conceal his obvious insecurity.<br/>////<br/>Shameless PWP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hunger

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea how or why this turned out a little angsty and far from the virgin kink I aimed at, but eh, I like it anyway.  
> Warning: Slight mentions of physical abuse.  
> Enjoy!

Garrett Hawke is a bear of a man; when Fenris pushes him flat onto the mattress and crawls on top of him, his big, muscular arms wrap themselves around Fenris's body and pull him closer. Fenris does not know if he feels suffocated or secure. Maybe it is a bit of both. 

When they kiss, it is sloppy, all tongue and teeth and no finesse, especially from Fenris, who has never been kissed before, not on his lips anyway, and certainly not from Hawke. 

So this is a first for him, in a way.

It is just that it is a first for Hawke in many ways and that is just very surprising. Fenris does not know what to say or to do when Hawke tells him, all flustered face and twitching fingers and jokes that are made to conceal his obvious insecurity.

Fenris thinks of the way Hawke tears through slavers and the like as if it was nothing. Fenris thinks of the way Hawke smiles at him, his entire face smiling with wrinkles around his lit eyes and upwards curled lips and shiny teeth, and teases him, flirts with him so confidently. Fenris thinks of the way Hawke holds his hand underneath their table in the Hanged Man when nobody is looking, Fenris's smaller hand almost swallowed by Hawke's ridiculously huge paw.

"How?" he asks and scratches the fascinating fur that covers the lower half of Hawke's handsome face. _Hairy humans_ , he thinks and smiles because Danarius always shaved. Danarius always shaved and never allowed him to cradle his head like he does now with Hawke, watching his lover's eyes flutter shut in utter trust (and maybe a little embarrassment). "I mean surely you had enough offers?"

"I kissed a lot in my life," Hawke offers and his eyes are still closed when he reaches out and finds his way along the slope of Fenris's nose with his fingertips. "But, uh, I never--I bailed. And then I had to take care of the twins and Mother after Father died. And I---and then we just, I don't know, I never came beyond some groping. Do you- do you mind? I mean..." 

"No," Fenris says and he really does not. It is kind of sweet, actually, just like Hawke. Usually Fenris is not very enthusiastic about sex; there is too much baggage, too much damage, too much seeing sex as a matter of power. Now though, with Hawke, he hungers, aches for him just like he ached for him yesterday evening, stifling his gasps of longing into his pillow while he jerked himself off for the first time in ages. It is so easy, though, maybe too easy, to curl his hand into Hawke's big paw and let him hold it right along with his heart. Fenris is afraid of this, frightened like a child, but he is never one to run away or duck, not anymore; instead, he opts to fight.

(Maybe, though, maybe fighting is not necessary. Maybe it is just that he only knows the grim fight, the bloody one, and a softer version of it, soft enough to make Hawke's face crinkle with a smile.)

Hawke is warm, hot like three blankets in summer, and his heart beat is a steady thump-thump-thump vibrating against Fenris's skin, picking up speed when Fenris peels him out of his shirt and strokes the black curls on Hawke's chest, black curls that are surprisingly soft. He likes it enough to lower his head and rub his cheek against it, causing Hawke to make a deep, rumbling noise.

They are still holding hands. Fenris finds small, shy freckles along Hawke's broad shoulders and meets them with lips and tongue. He knows how to please a man- oh, he knows-, but Hawke causes him to want to please himself as well, to not think about technique at all. So he just feels, probably for the first time in his life, lit with raw hunger Hawke meets with his own and Fenris thinks that he could do it, that he could satisfy both their appetite. 

Hawke is a little shier than Fenris imagined, yesterday, when he jerked himself off for the first time in ages, but the hand that is not curving around Fenris's is curving around the base of his spine, thick, nimble fingers touching him without finesse, but with so much sincerity. Hawke's warmth makes Fenris warm as well and he kisses him again, again, again. Hawke meets him with closed eyes, undresses him with closed eyes as if he does not need to see to find Fenris, as if he imagined it often enough to do it blindly now. 

It is just a body, but it is more than that. It is Hawke's way of experiencing his surroundings. These are Hawke's eyes that blaze and blink and smile and cry and that he closes without a second thought for Fenris, turning himself into his hands. This is Hawke's mouth that laughs and yells and bites and that licks, without finesse and a little too wetly, a broad stripe along Fenris's throat without giving him the memory of being choked, strangled, held down by a hand that dictates his life. This is Hawke's Adam's apple that keeps him alive and bobs when Fenris bites into it, bites into it and thinks of the air filling Hawke's lungs, the gasps and moans and whispers vibrating through Fenris's lips and teeth and tongue. This is Hawke's chest that rises and falls with the rhythm of his heart, the cadence of his breath, the rough, scarred, hairy skin, so much flesh and muscles and bones that slope into hard stomach muscles and more freckles, tiny, half-hidden freckles; Fenris finds them all. These are Hawke's hands that touch and grip and kill and stroke softly, ever so softly Fenris's hair and his thigh.

This is Hawke's cock, flushed an heavy between his strong legs, Hawke's cock that could fill a woman's womb with seed and future children and instead fits itself into Fenris's hand so perfectly, delicate skin and utterly male hardness. Hawke makes delicious noises and grips Fenris's ass with both hands while Fenris starts to stroke him, watching him with hungry eyes. He makes delicious noises and Fenris breathes in and lowers his head and swallows him, swallows him down, down, gripping Hawke's strong thighs and feels him tremble, feels his pulse vibrating, thundering through his skin. Knowing how much Hawke wants him, to have his body laid out before him, not only his body, so much more than that- it makes Fenris hard, achingly so, and with hunger comes thirst, and when Hawke spills himself into him with a garbled warning, he swallows, and it is good, but not enough. He licks his lips and lets Hawke plunder his mouth with a deep, desperate groan, hungry just like Fenris, and Fenris's heart is too big for his chest, and Fenris's want is too much to pass his scars without consequences.

He is frightened like a child because of his want, of his hunger, of his willingness to turn himself over, his willingness to accept Hawke turning himself over to him, but he aches, and he needs, and Hawke cautiously, hesitantly rolls him over and covers him like a blanket and provides.

Hawke is a bear of a man; there is too much of him, miles and miles and shy freckles hiding in his skin, and Fenris does not know whether he feels suffocated or secure.

Maybe it will always be both.


End file.
